


Paradise Lost

by bluphacelia



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Mutual Pining, season 4 compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 13:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15389292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluphacelia/pseuds/bluphacelia
Summary: Lotor is busy building his ships that can access the quintessence field, however there is one part that he desperately needs but the last one was given to the Paladin's of Voltron. He will do anything to finish his life's work, but what if it comes with a price? His heart.





	Paradise Lost

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I wrote end of last year for a zine that unfortunately folded. I kinda wanted to expand on it after I found out, but didn't have the time. :"(

Lotor tugs at the gloves of his space suit. He knows they are perfectly sealed, but the small thrill is there, in the pit of his stomach, as he watches the asteroid belt inch closer through the small window.

"ETA?" he calls out into the small mic in his helmet.

"Five doboshes," comes the crackly reply. Acxa is handling his descent while Zethrid prepares the ship for a jump right after contact. He is so close to finishing his ship, just one more piece to fit into the puzzle and of course the Paladins of Voltron had it.

"Ready?" Acxa asks as she frets over his suit.

"The suit is fine," Lotor snaps and pushes past her, toward the hatch.

"Impact in three doboshes," comes the countdown.

Lotor holds his breath for a tick, then licks his lips. The plan is good. Of course it is. He came up with it, but there is always that smidgen of risk. He likes to be right—he can't afford not to be. He'd seen the transmission from Adastreia Nebula with Allura in a pink Paladin suit, the rest of the Paladins gathered around her as she accepted a shining blue crystal for eradicating the Galra presence in the system. The last pure Pralesite gem. He feels a cold jab on his chest.

"Two doboshes."

Acxa tugs at the suit one last time. "You're set," she says and backs away from the airlock. The door seals behind her, but Lotor barely registers it as—"One dobosh."—echoes through his helmet.

The countdown takes an age and barely a breath. The hatch opens.

Space always has this special weightlessness that a ship doesn't. Lotor pushes off, the jets of his suit automatically turning on as he shifts and he is propelled forward. It's a dance; a slow pirouette around a small cluster of rocks, a push against a larger boulder. Carefully avoiding another asteroid as it hurls through space at a thousand miles a varga.

A ship blinks into existence just as Lotor finds his footing and pushes forward—his calculations are precise once again—and he launches himself to the side just as the usual garbage disposal happens. He skirts past the rubbish and into the hatch. It closes a half dobosh later and he feels the normalizing gravity hit him. He takes a step. It feels a few pounds heavier than he is used to and it takes a moment to adjust. He stretches and slips through the second hatch before the sensors report the abnormality.

The tick he is out, the gloves are off his hands and he pulls out the small hacker program he devised for this particular Galra ship. The cargo bay isn't large. It never is on a prison ship, but he manages to find a portlet off to the side. The ship is of a newer make, one he isn't quite as familiar with and it makes his back prickle. He doesn't like abnormalities. Or change.

The footsteps, however, come just as planned. Two sets. Side by side, like clockwork. The program finishes and he pulls out the hacker chip. He holds his breath and crouches down behind one of the crates. He waits.

The footsteps stop. Two ticks. Five ticks. And continue on for another fifteen paces. Stop. Two ticks. Six ticks—that's unusual. 

Lotor feels his palms sweat.

Nine ticks. They move on to the garbage hatch. The mechanism of the door whirls and pings as it locks. The sentries move on. 

Lotor waits a full dobosh before pulling the rest of his suit off. It leaves him in tattered rags, barely suited for the prisoners they were meant to cloth. He looks at them in distaste, but doesn't give it more than half a thought as he looks for a place to leave his suit. A panel on the wall catches his eye and a moment later the suit is safely stored inside an air vent and he is a good fifty feet away, inching toward the cells.

He counts and moves and waits. Counts and moves and waits. The program fools the sentries; moves them on different paths, further away from his own. Soon enough he's flush against the cell quarters that hold most of the occupants of the vessel. He plugs in his chip once more, lets it run its course.

A cell door opens. Fourth one down the row. He pops out the chip and slips it into a small pouch, tucked against his skin, hidden. He takes a final look at the corridor before walking inside. The door closes with a quiet click as the deadbolt sets. The cell is empty but for him and it's dark, except for the pale red glow from the panel of lights near the floor. A single strand of pale green hair brushes against his cheek. He gives it a critical eye and slips it back beneath the hood of his tattered cloak. It would have to do.

* * *

He doesn't have to wait long before a blast rocks the ship. A second shot pummels the ship a moment later. _Somewhere on the port side?_ Lotor guesses as the floor tilts under his feet.

He waits. Five doboshes. Eight. And he hears footsteps running down the corridor. There is gunfire in the distance, but the cell doors are sliding open. One by one.

"Out, out! We don't have a lot of time!" a voice echoes through the hall. Lotor closes his eyes, feels himself, every pore, every cell. He opens his eyes and he can feel terror rip through him.

"Are you hurt?" Lotor looks up and then tilts his head just enough to glance at the door from his half huddle against the wall. It's the Yellow Paladin. He's larger than he remembers, with a huge yellow gun propped up against his shoulder.

"I-I'm fine," Lotor feels his voice rasp through his unused vocal cords. He clears his throat and stands, legs shaking a bit. "I'm fine," he says again, louder this time, and the large man nods his head and motions for him to follow.

Lotor does. The corridor is flooded with prisoners. More than the manifest had promised. Or maybe it had, he couldn't quite remember. He tries to think, but the crowd surges forward and he follows and stumbles as he is swept away. A small figure in green armor urges them along down a corridor and he lets the flow take him toward freedom.

"In, in, in!" Yellow bellows toward the holding space on his Lion. Green is there now too, ushering another surge of prisoners to the Green Lion. There are gasps of awe around him as aliens from all walks of life file into the cramped space.

"Don't worry now. You're safe," the Yellow one smiles at a Gneaphisso prisoner who is held up by two others, dragging his mostly limp body. "You're safe."

The hold is cramped. But at least it is a step toward his goal—freedom.

* * *

There was a total of seventy-nine prisoners on the ship saved that day. Three perished in the gun battle between the sentries as they had tried to run in the wrong direction, disoriented from their long stay in the dark cells.

The rest were led into two rooms, given water and food and blankets. A real rescue mission. Lotor keeps to himself near the back, inserting himself into a conversation if one of the Paladins comes by, smiling and saying little.

Green and Yellow seem to be working this particular operation together. Allura, in her pink armor, steps into the room once, briefly, to talk with her mustachioed advisor and Lotor does his best to blend into the crowd. Be invisible. He can still feel her presence doboshes after she'd exited the room.

There is a cough from somewhere near the front. 

"Hey guys! I'm Lance! And I'll be your designated guide to your future freedom!" A voice rings out and Lotor turns his head to see the Blue Paladin, helmet under his arm as he stands on a small pedestal—no, it seems to be a cleaning container turned over so he can see across the crowded space. He waves his hand at the crowd as they inch closer.

"We're on the Castle Ship! There are quite a few of you this time, so it'll take us a few to get you all sorted. We're on our way to our super cool base, so if you could just hold onto your horses, we'll let you off there to be sent to your respective home planets! However! If you think you'd like to join the Voltron Coalition, we are asking for volunteers! We could use engineers, scientists. Anyone who would like to help is welcome!" Blue holds his hands out—quiznak, he's posing on the makeshift pedestal. Lotor bites back a seething comment.

"The Paladins are so wonderful," a woman nearby gasps. Her words are teary and another one, a friend perhaps, puts their three arms around her. "I can't believe after all these years we are finally free." She is crying now and a murmur of agreement rises around them, morphing into a round of applause.

"We'll be giving out clothes and assigning sleeping quarters soon, but we'll be planetside in just a few quintants, so don't get too comfortable!" With that, the Blue Paladin bows to a second scattering of applause and the Yellow and Green ones are back, handing out clothes along with small halo-keys for rooms.

"Sorry we don't have individual rooms for everyone," Yellow says as he hands Lotor a bundle of clothes and his own halo-key. "The key will tell you where the room is located! Don't stray too far though, the castle is a real maze and you'll get lost in no time."

"Thank you," Lotor murmurs and bows his head.

He turns to leave.

"One more thing," the Yellow one says, a halo-lens in his hands. "What is your name and the planet you come from."

Lotor takes a breath and turns back. "Sincline, and my planet was destroyed years ago. I watched it burn." It is the truth. He tilts his head and watches as the Yellow one's face falls and he turns to apologies. Lotor just shakes his head. "It is no matter."

"Would you like to be taken somewhere? Or would you like to join the initiative?" the paladin soldiers on through his survey.

"I'd like to join. I think I'll have valuable knowledge of the enemy forces," Lotor says, tucking the bundle of clothes under his arm.

"Oh really?" 

"I was asked to do some engineering work for Emperor Zarkon himself before he dumped me onto that prison ship. I think I can give you some valuable information regarding his defences." 

He feels more than sees a green blur zip in, taking the bait.

"You're an engineer?" the blur chirps up at him. It's the Green Paladin, big eyes behind odd pieces of glass.

"Something of the sort, yes," Lotor confirms, leaning away. 

They let him leave after that, after making him promise to come find them in the docking bay. The Green one gives him instructions, updating his halo-key before they are ushered back into their own line of ex-prisoners.

He is housed with two others, but they are already clothed and making their way out of the room as Lotor walks in. He smiles and nods. He watches them leave.

The bathroom is roomy and he walks in, closing the door behind him. He places the clothes aside and strips. Ragged fabric falls onto the ground, leaving him with just the short blade he had hidden, strapped to his thigh, and the necklace around his neck. It glows a dim aqua, resonating with the quintessence of the ship.

He turns and takes a step back as his eyes fall onto the form reflected in the mirrored glass in front of him. Dark olive green skin speckled with freckles. His hair is still long, tied to a braid by Acxa what seems like an age ago, flowing down his back in a cascade of sea foam. His eyes though, are still a liquid amber. He blinks, willing them to turn more green, but fails, try as he might. 

His body shivers in the cold confines of the room and slowly he realizes he's been standing there for half a varga, staring at his image. He turns and washes in the hot water. He dresses in the deep blue altean robes. He looks into the mirror once more and is out the door.

* * *

It doesn't take long for Lotor to realize his information is out of date. The Black one, the champion, the survivor, is back. While the small angry Red one is missing. Acxa told Lotor about him—their meeting in the Weblum and their subsequent fight when they'd shown up right when he'd gotten his hands on the Teleduv piece. The Lions have also changed allegiance it seems. Red for Blue and Blue for Pink—Allura piloting a Lion? Her father would roll around in his grave if he knew. For worry or fear, Lotor isn't quite certain, having only met him briefly in passing before his Long Rest in exile.

It makes him hopeful, maybe the Lions are easier to win over than he'd been led to assume. His father's advisors had always told him stories about the unwavering bond of Lion and Paladin, but they seemed to be lies.

He visits the Green one—Pidge?—on the loading dock as often as he can. She seems to be a small female portraying herself as nondescript, because as she....they said, "It's easier this way." 

Lotor asks them questions and they are happy enough to comply after he points out a few configuration mistakes they've made on the Galra patrol bot they'd salvaged. Getting the tiny thing working seems to spur on a mode of trust that Lotor makes sure to cultivate as best he can. 

With Green comes Yellow. They share the same space for their projects, throw around ideas and make comments that have them rolling around in their chairs; figuratively. In reality they just laugh, the Yellow one with an uproaring and infectious tone that only spurs the Green one to try harder. Lotor follows Yellow and learns his habits and favorite places on the ship. Unlike Green who practically sleeps in with their little machinery, Yellow loves the kitchen. Hunk, as he is simply called by the rest of the crew, seems to love the idea of cooking up a feast to feed all. 

Then there is Blue. Lance. Lotor rarely sees him as Blue seems to migrate to the crowds of people in the living quarters, entertaining the riffraff, telling stories about his exploits and how the Paladins will save the entire Universe. Lotor watches for a while and leaves. He doesn't look back.

The Black one, Shiro, is with Allura more often than not. They spend most of their time on the bridge of the Castle and thus Lotor avoids him like he avoids her. It's easy with the influx of people, but he still needs to come up with a reason to stay. To cement himself into the group. Make himself invaluable. Then he hears Pidge talk to the Blue one. About family and their love for a brother, a father. Missing.

It opens up a chance.

* * *

Lotor rests against the back of the tool rack in the docking bay. 

"I was used as an engineer by the Galra. They had me build tracking and decoy mechanisms until they found someone better and had me thrown into that prison ship." He sighs and fiddles around with a wrench.

"Oh?" Pidge grunts as they dislodge a hector core from the tiny bot. Lotor gives them the multitool as they hold out their hand.

"It was one of your lot. From your _Earth_ ," Lotor continues, trying for the bait. Green stops and nearly drops the bot onto the ground.

"What? What was their name?" they gasp, eyes wide. "Did they look like me at all?"

"It was an older man," Lotor muses as though he hasn't noticed the rapt attention the human is giving him. "I never met him. Just saw a picture in passing as they were discussing what to do with me." He turns to look at the small Earthling. "I guess the hair color matches. He wasn't quite as small as you are, but you Earthlings seem to come in all kinds of shapes and sizes. Don't you?"

He has their full attention now. They are sitting on their knees, hands clasping around the bot and Lotor is half afraid it will be damaged from those tiny fingers clutching at the delicate metal innards.

He looks at them. "Do you want to hear more?" Hook, line, sinker.

* * *

They end up on Olkarion. All the prisoners go through a second screening and scatter. Lotor watches the rest slip through the process, waiting at the end of the line. Waiting.

"Wait!" Lotor turns and has to fight the small smile as Pidge dashes through the crowd. They are wearing a green hoodie and jeans, nondescript, and they get a few scattered mumbles as they slip through the thinning crowd. "Sincline!"

"Yes?" Lotor asks and crosses his arms, the small halo-lens with his information tucked into the crook of his elbow.

"Do. . ." Pidge stops and pants, trying to catch their breath. "Do you want to stay in the Castle for a bit longer? I think we could use you—and your robotics knowledge." They look up. There is a hopeful sparkle in their eyes and honestly: Who is Lotor to say no?

* * *

They put him up in another room. It is the first time Lotor feels how large the Castle ship is: cavernous, practically empty, the inhabitants few and far between. The Yellow one shows him around, where the rest of the crew sleeps, their personal space where the ex-prisoners weren't allowed before. He is shown the Paladins’ quarters, said he is free to use them as he wishes; the training room, the pool hall, the recreation area. He notes that they skirt around the AI chamber, giving it a wide berth. He wonders why. 

Pidge trails along behind him and as soon as Lotor has placed his meager things inside his new room they pull at his sleeve, urging him back to the docking bay. "I need you to come look at this for me," they say and that is the end of that.

That night the Advisor comes to fetch them. Lotor puts on a smile and keeps his head bowed, tempted to pull the hood of his simple robe over his head, but resists. It is still odd being in Altean clothes again after years spent in armor.

"Time for dinner!" the Advisor announces from the door and Pidge groans. 

"Who cooked?" they ask and stretch, arching their shoulder blades and Lotor can hear the small pop of their back. 

The Advisor looks dejected, "It was Hunks turn to cook tonight. He said he'd cook up a feast like no other!"

Pidge perks up and stands. Lotor follows a few steps behind.

"So you've gotten yourself a new shadow," the Advisor speaks up and Lotor looks up just in time to see the man looking at him curiously.

"His name is Sincline and he's going to help me find my dad," Pidge declares and Lotor gives them a mild smile.

"How do you propose to do that?" the Advisor starts, but the question stalls as they enter the kitchen to half a catastrophe.

"IT WASN'T MY FAULT!" Blue yells, fighting something that looks like a huge marsh creature flowing from the convection circuit.

"I TOLD YOU TO TAKE IT OUT IN FIVE MINUTES!" Yellow bellows. 

It is over quick, the Advisor getting to the controls and stopping the expansion.

"Flan," Pidge groans as they poke at the monstrosity.

"It's still probably perfectly edible," Blue says and pokes at it from the other side. Lotor takes a step forward. He regrets it instantly as those blue eyes pick up on the movement and turn toward him.

"Well, hello there. You must be our new guest," Blue smiles, practically a smirk as he squares his shoulders. "Haven't seen your pretty face here before."

There is a collective groan from the room and Lotor furrows his brows. "Excuse me?"

Blue takes a step forward, "Hey there sweet pea, are you always this good looking or is it just me?"

"I don't understand," Lotor turns to Pidge who is very clearly facepalming right next to him. "I am not a pea-plant."

Blue leans back and back and he misses the wall the was aiming for. There is a moment and panic stricken yelp as he ends up in the _flan_.

"Help!" he calls out, the sudden distress in his voice palpable as he sinks in further into the pudding.

"We gotta eat you out!" Yellow calls out, a spoon in his hand.

"No time to joke! Pull me out!"

Blue is now nearly submerged in the flan, his flailing only makes him sink further. He looks like a overturned Tycrard and Lotor can't help but laugh. He brings his sleeve over to his face, hiding his expression, but can't hide the shaking of his shoulders as he watches. Pidge however has no such qualms and they burst into roaring laughter, nearly doubled over as Yellow tips into the flan as well. 

Soon, the kitchen is covered in a medley of green and yellow pudding as globs of it flies across the room accompanied by a joyous shriek.

There is a soft cough from the doorway and the five of them turn, wide eyed and guilty as Black and Allura stand in front of them.

"What is this?" she asks, arms crossed as she stands tall.

"Pudding?" Yellow says, half a question as a ball of yellow-green goo drops from his hand onto the floor with a loud splat.

"Just clean it up," comes the terse answer and she turns to the Advisor. "We have some worrying news. Would you care to join us?"

"Certainly, princess," the Advisor looks around, and sloshes out, up to his knees in goo. "I will expect all of this is cleared away, lickity-split!" 

"Is she. . ." Lotor trails off as the trio make their way out of the room.

"She's been on edge lately, the people want to see Keith—the Red Paladin—but he isn't here with us anymore," Pidge supplies.

"Yeah, he's off working for the Marmora," Yellow adds brushing some pudding off his forehead.

"Can't they tell the people that?" Lotor asks, gingerly stepping past a puddle of flan. Miraculously he only has a tiny dollop of goo on his sleeve and otherwise he is still pristine. 

There is a shift behind him and before he can dodge away a huge handful of yellow goo slips down his collar. He can feel the cold pudding ooze down his back. He swings around feeling his cheeks flush as anger bubbles up from his gut.

"Now we match." Blue eyes stare into his and Lotor blinks. He can feel the red creep up his neck and there must be something in his eyes as the playful smirk on Blue's face freezes into something worried. "I'm sorry, I just—" The Blue Paladin, _Lance_ Lotor reminds himself, stutters and Lotor does what he does best. He tackles the Paladin into the goo and in two ticks flat he has Lance pinned to the ground on his stomach, arm painfully twisted against his back.

Lotor leans forward, knee digging into his lower back. "I don't like to be dirty," he whispers and Lance whimpers under him. Lotor let's go and stands.

"Now let's clean this mess," he proclaims into the stunned silence as Yellow and Pidge stare at him.

"I don't think I've seen anyone take Lance down like that since Keith was here," Yellow—Hunk says.

Lotor glances back down at Lance who is still on the ground, now on his back as he leans against his hands, lips slightly parted. There is a clear flush to his cheeks and Lotor looks away. 

He pulls at his Altean robe to dislodge the goop from his back and rolls up his sleeves. With a little ushering and the help from a few droids Pidge calls up, they clean up the kitchen.

"Thank you for the help," Hunk clasps his shoulder at the end of it all. He can feel the power in those hands, but his eyes trail on back to Lance, who is currently trying to put away three mops into the closet and somehow failing miserably. Pidge is nearby, holding onto their side as they hold up their halo-lens—recording.

"It was my pleasure," Lotor responds and oddly enough he did mean it.

* * *

It was breakfast. Lotor had just placed a bowl of green goop with red flecks onto the table as Lance slides into the seat next to him.

"Are you always this color?" There is a pregnant pause as Lotor tilts his head, a cold sweat breaking through his skin. "Because you're a bit green around the gills."

"I don't. . .understand," Lotor replies, turning his head just enough to catch Lance's eye. "I do not possess gills? And my people are always this color."

"Just ignore him," Hunk drops onto his seat across the table. 

"Hey!" comes the affronted retort. 

"Already there." Lotor smirks into his goo at the gasp that elicited. Maybe he'd found his weak link.

* * *

It doesn't take long for Lance to come and ask to spar with him. Lotor refuses, saying his time is better used helping Pidge and Lance relents, but Lotor doesn't miss the look of curiosity as he leaves.

Lotor still trains, alone. Making sure to clean the logs after every session. Just in case.

* * *

There is another grand feast to hail the saviors, the castle full of people. Lotor listens to them chatter as he surveys the fray. He walks past a table of tiny _finger food_ as Hunk called it. He'd tried to teach Coran how to make tiny triangle pastries and nearly flooded the kitchen again. Lotor looks at the tiny pastries fondly—fondly? He shakes his head and steps away, a sudden cold sweat pushing him to find a dark corner to sit by himself.

He doesn't have the time to get fond of these people. He couldn't be swayed. He'd befriended most of the Paladins already, gained their trust, even though he did still avidly try to avoid Allura and the Black Paladin the best he could. There is something off about Black. Something he can't quite put his finger on. Something about his quintessence, but the man never stays around long enough for Lotor to figure it out and he is thankful.

The party is winding down and Lotor can pinpoint every single Paladin in the room. Except Blue. Where is Lance?

He frowns, it was prudent to keep a tally of where all his prime candidates were at all times. It's sloppy. It isn't like him to be sloppy.

"Looking for Lance?" a voice echoes his thoughts so well he starts from his tiny ledge where he's been perching.

"No, why would you say that?" Lotor asks as he side-eyes Pidge, who has somehow materialized next to him. Another disconcerting trait. He was getting compliant. 

They give him a wry look, signaling that they don't quite believe him. "Just a wild guess," they sigh and hop up to sit next to him. There are still a good two dozen people milling in the huge hall, but it is a fraction of what it had been just an hour ago. "Lance always has a hard time at parties. He flirts and does his thing, but soon enough he'll disappear."

There's a moment of quiet before they continue, voice subdued, "Frankly, I wouldn't mind disappearing myself. I'm so close to finding something about my brother. I can feel it! And with you here, I'm sure we'll get a lock on where they took my father after they threw you on that ship. I'm just so glad he's still alive."

There are tears and old pain in those words even though Pidge's eyes are dry. There is a pang in Lotor's chest. He stands and takes a step to get away, but Pidge stops him, hand grabbing onto the dark-blue Altean robe he is wearing that night.

"You might want to check out the observatory. Or maybe his room." They give him another meaningful glance before dropping down and slipping around Lotor. He frowns after Pidge, not quite certain how he should take their words.

A few minutes pass and he's back at the table of food. It's been picked through, but he does find a plate with two small flaky _tarts_ , as Hunk calls them. He glances around, before slipping out a side door. 

The castle is quiet and his footsteps echo as he walks toward the living quarters. On a whim he takes a right and climbs up toward the observatory instead. It is a quiet place to sit, away from the hustle. He can think in peace about what he'd learned that quintant. 

The door slides open and he steps through into the dark. The door shuts behind him and he stands, letting his eyes adjust.

"Hey," a voice calls out, muffled, quiet. "Get sick of the party?" The second half is louder and Lotor finds its source.

Lance stands by the huge window out into the native woodlands of this backwater planet. He is half turned toward the door, a shadow against the night. Lotor waits a tick before taking a step forward. Lance had already turned back to look out. The stars are barely visible, clouds rolling through the night sky and the light pollution from the city making it nearly impossible to see anything but gray.

"It was winding down," Lotor says and nudges the tray toward Lance who gives him a questioning look, but takes the pastry.

"Do you miss it?" Lance asks into the darkness.

"Miss what?" 

"Your home planet?" There is a shuffle in the dark and Lance slides down to sit, back against the glass. "Well. Come on. Sit."

Lotor finds himself following suit. "I don't know," he responds. The moment feels honest, a surreal kind of blanket covering them from all sides making it seem fake, intangible. His hand automatically moves up to his chest, to the cool comfort of home.

"How do you mean?" There is a shift next to him, a shoulder bumping into his.

"I don't remember much anymore. I was very little when my planet was—was destroyed." There is something in saying those words that makes Lotor swallow. He hadn't really thought back to the time before. Not in years.

"The Galra are some nasty—," Lance starts and then sighs. "I'm sorry. I know I should feel thankful my planet is still intact, but it's hard to remember sometimes when I'm celebrating on some planet somewhere a kazillion miles away from home."

"I don't think that's how measurements work." There is a moment of silence and Lotor turns his head the smallest fraction so he could catch sight of Lance. His profile is half in darkness, the lights from outside making the shadow of his nose arc across his face. Then it hits him, a sudden jab of something he hasn't thought about before. Something he hasn't let himself think about in years. Out of all the humans he's met so far, a grand total of five, Lance is definitely the most comely. Almost pleasant as he rests his head against the glass, hair sliding past his brow just so. . .Lotor looks away.

"You really take everything literally, don't you?" Lance sighs and Lotor can feel the shift of his breath and the twist of his arm as it lands on top of his bent knees.

"I don't—" Lotor begins but is cut off.

"I know, you don't mean it. Just, I'm sorry. I brought you down. I just . ." Lotor hears Lance's head fall against the glass with a dull thud and a small groan.

"I was talking to one of the natives at the party," Lotor shifts the conversation and Lance chuckles but urges him to continue with a quiet, "Go on".

"I was talking to one of the natives," Lotor repeats. "And they mentioned a pure Pralesite crystal you were gifted a few phoebs ago."

Lance scrunches his nose a little, and Lotor vehemently does not think it's cute. "The blue gem the Reslillents gave us?"

"I believe so." Lotor felt his heartbeat slow as he takes a hold of himself, of his form. He was letting his emotions too close. It was dangerous. "They talked of its beauty. I'd love to see that one day. Do you know where it's stored?"

"Oh," Lance looks up. "It's probably kept with all the other things we were given on Olkarion. We always dump all the valuable things we are given there—either to be used in the war effort or stored until we need them. You'd have to ask Coran more, I don't really keep tabs on that stuff."

"Alright," Lotor says and crosses his arms around his knees. Figures. It would have been too easy if the gem was held here after all.

"What is your favorite planet you've visited?" Lotor asks, shifting the conversation as though his mind wasn't working a million miles a minute. He carefully sifted through his feelings and boxes away the fondness he has started to feel. He was forever a soldier, but listening to Lance talk about the great fuzzy purple fruit of Lorthorp made him smile against his will. He wonders how his name would sound coming from those lips. He quickly asks about the Balmera instead.

* * *

Quintants turn into movements and the Castle Ship drifts from planet to planet gathering information and forces for the coalition. There hasn't been another full out fight with the Galra since the prison ship, for which Lotor is thankful for. He is mostly left to his own devices, a half forgotten presence ghosting at the edges of the Princess' plans. 

He met the Red Paladin once, a chance meeting as an unknown ship docks. Someone, full in a Marmora suit of armor walks out. Lotor stands, wiping his hands on a spare piece of cloth. The man's helmet disengages with a slow whirl, but he ignores Lotor as he stalks toward the doors. They slide open and the Black Paladin steps forth as Lotor watches them greet each other. A soft graze of hand to shoulder. Black catches his eye and Lotor looks away before the doors slide shut.

There are more parties, festivities, balls and galas in nearly every flavor available in this quadrant. It becomes a task, a chore and more often than not Lotor finds himself on the observation deck instead. Or walking the streets of a strange city. Or sitting in the quiet confines of the Paladin quarters, just talking. Living.

Even the soft scolding by the Princess doesn't dampen the thrill of it. Of skirting duty. Those laughing eyes and warm hand in his as the two of them pull away from the crowd in the small hours of the night. It's a soft purgatory.

* * *

Then time runs out. They are due to be back on Olkarion within the movement. 

Lotor sits in his chair in the docking bay helping Pidge with their newest project. They'd manage to salvage a full data bank from the last ruined ship the Paladins had found, but the data is badly encrypted. Lotor knows the encryption techniques used by the Galra army better than most who use it, but there is a reluctance. He doesn't want to hand over the access codes. It's too easy, suspicious. 

He looks up at Lance who is sitting by the Red Lion, plugging in wiring near the hatch at its base and he wonders for the thousandth time if they would be this friendly if they knew who he truly was.

Of course not, he chides himself and turns back to his work. "I think I know how to decrypt this," he says out loud instead.

"Really?" Pidge's head jumps up from their work on another droid.

"It might take me a few days, but I think I managed to get a part of the code down," Lotor points at his screen. "See this. I think it's a repeating pattern. And we know how each transmission ends don't we—" He turns to look at Pidge.

"Vrepit Sa?" she gasps, eyes as wide as a sourcing cup.

"Yes," Lotor nods and taps at his decryption device. "Their own rigidity to formal code is one of their undoings."

"It's like during the Second World War and the—" Pidge shakes their head. "Never mind. Just something that happened on Earth as well. I can't believe—" Muttering, they go back to their own work, trusting Lotor to do his. He feels a smile on his lips and crushes it as he turns back to the code. He has to leave soon. Before he gets too attached.

They can't get to Olkarion fast enough.

* * *

"So we need a new binding agent for the core module?" Lotor says as they walk down the ramp on their second day planetside.

"True." Pidge sighs. "But where are we supposed to find that?"

Lotor takes a moment. "Lance told me about the gifts you've received. There might be something there that we could use." Lotor turns his head and looks down at Pidge.

"Oh, right. Yes of course! The warehouse is full of weird alien tech! I could show it to you." She smiles and Lotor almost feels sorry for her.

"I would really like that, thank you."

They have the day free, and Pidge takes him to the storage space, hopeful for some new insight.

"And this one is just some battle droids we brought back. Deactivated of course, but we studied them to find all the weak spots in their programming. We managed to find a quick fix to shutting them down if we got to the main network line. Plug in and eradicate a full ship in minutes!" Pidge threw their hand nearly slapping a droid.

"Watch yourself." Lotor grabs their hand and quickly ushers them away toward the warehouse.

"Oh, I think I know what you'd like to see," Pidge turns and nearly jogs to the end of the hall in their haste. The room ends in vault. They place their palm on top of the scanner and the doors slide open. "This is where we keep all of the more prized possessions. The ones we don't want to lose accidentally."

"Are you in a habit of losing things accidentally?" Lotor inquires, eyes scanning the small space. They land on the dark blue gem held behind a forcefield and he freezes.

"Like that?" Pidge sounds so smug as they walk over to it. "Something we got off a planet. Last one they'd found in dozens of years. A pure crystal Pralesite. Apparently they are impossible to find now."

"Impossible," Lotor echos. "It is beautiful."

They preen and move onto other things. Lotor follows, inquiring about each object, but as their back is turned he places a small flat device beside the door.

"I'm rather peckish. Should we head back for food?" Lotor asks and just like that they leave the vault. The doors slide closed and lock, but the device is in place.

* * *

It is late and Lotor walks toward Lance's room. He knocks and waits.

The door slides open. 

"Sincline," Lance smiles. There is a tired crease on his forehead and Lotor feels a stab of betrayal. How dare he—.

"Missed you at dinner," Lotor says and gives him the tray.

"You didn't have to." There is a flush on Lance's cheeks and he avoids his gaze, just takes the tray and places it on the small desk that's been recessed into the wall.

"I wanted to," Lotor says and there is too much truth in those words.

"Thank you." The tray goes forgotten as they fall into a routine that is familiar and confining at the same time.

"I can't believe how smooth your face is," Lance mutters as he pushes his own bangs aside with a headband and bends down to wash his face.

"I was born lucky," Lotor responds and glances at the bathroom mirror. He still has a hard time looking at himself. At the fraud that stares back.

Lance groans as he pulls the towel out of Lotor's hands. "I wish I'd been born that way. I skip two days and my face is just a mountain of blackheads."

"I guess we should keep you out of the battles then."

"Is that a joke I hear!" Lance turns around, a small smile on his face. It's way too intimate and so Lotor does the only thing he can think of. He pushes past and turns the water on hotter and splashes it against his own face. 

"We could try the new face masks I bought off that last trading post. They’re nice, just lay flat on your face and then when they’re done, you just peel them off in one go. No mess!" Lance looks at the packages, but catches Lotor watching him through the mirror. "I promise these ones will be better! I made sure they wouldn't cause first-degree burns like the last ones!"

"This time you're putting yours on first and let it sit for a good five doboshes before I deem them good enough for this." Lotor motions to his own face.

"You're such a—." Lance waves his free hand around. "I don't know, but you remind me of Allura sometimes. The whole high and mighty Princess thing. Are you sure you weren't born a Prince and forgot to tell me?"

"I'm quite certain," Lotor replies, voice dry. This isn’t the first time Lance mentioned something akin to his heritage. It makes his skin feel too small for his frame and he has to push himself to calm before he does something irreversible.

Lance shrugs and elbows his way back to the mirror to place the mask onto his face, padding it along his eyes and forehead, along his nose and cheekbones down to his jaw.

"You really are beautiful," the words slip out and Lance looks at him, shock evident in his eyes before they roll in exasperation and he nudges Lotor with an elbow. 

"You're one to talk. One of the best looking aliens I've seen and somehow you end up being my friend. How lucky can a guy get," Lance pads the rest of the mask on down his neck and he turns to wash his hands.

"You're just saying that—", _because you don't know what I actually look like._

"Nu-huh, nope. Not just saying that. Look at yourself." Lance hands the mask over, there is a weird lisp to his voice as he tries to talk without moving the mask. It's a bit too big on his face and clearly meant for someone with three eyes, but he looked good regardless. No, scratch that. He looked human and like an easy target. That. Lotor puts the mask on to stop his thoughts from venturing into dangerous territory. 

He dabs at his face as Lance exits the bathroom. "Do you want to play another round? I believe we tied at 5-5 last time," the Paladin calls out from the other room and Lotor sighs looking up at himself. He looks ridiculous, but he lets it slide as he takes a bag from his robe pocket. He glances down and takes a discarded bottle out of the bin by the sink. He slips it into the bag and places it back into his pocket.

The game is something Lotor has never seen before meeting Lance. Something off his Earth and indescribable. He can't understand the point, but he also can't stop watching as Lance mows down another wave of enemies with an expert eye.

He remembers the first time Lance pulled him into his room and showed the console to him. _Is this how you train your soldiers on Earth?_ He'd asked only to have Lance laugh and say it was for fun.

It's late. Lotor can tell as the lights dim and the hum of the castle becomes more pronounced. He'd tossed the face mask out what seemed like vargas ago, but Lance had kept his on.

"I think I should head back," Lotor sighs. The game console had been silent and on the main menu for ages as they sit on Lance's bed, shoulders touching, hands barely an inch away.

"Will you leave?" the question seemingly from nowhere, but still there, right under the surface all along.

"I will have to, eventually," Lotor replies. He will—tonight if possible.

"Will you come back?" 

"I do not know." It was honest again. Too honest. They'd meet again, but most likely on the other sides of the battlefield.

"It really is unfair." There is a gasp and Lotor turns just as Lance looks away. He balls up the mask and tosses it toward the garbage bin. He misses. He laughs as he watches it land. "I can't even aim right."

"Lance." The name comes unbidden, from that other side of him. The side he wants to keep inside its box, locked away until it can be taken out and examined with a more prudent eye.

"I'll miss you. That's all." His voice is small and his words smaller as he refuses to meet Lotor's gaze. His toes peek out from under the blue dress robes, bare.

"Lance." The word is barely a breath, but it coaxes Lance to glance toward him and suddenly he knows what he should do. He leans forward, just a little. Lance makes a noise at the back of his throat, wet and garbled. There are tears on his cheek as Lotor traces his cheekbone, cups his jaw. He takes the final step and their lips touch. It's soft. He tastes like salt and brine—like an ocean—the thought passes through Lotor's mind as he pushes forward, other hand coming to rest at his shoulder.

They break apart a moment later. Lotor can feel the Paladin's breath against his cheek, shallow and soft. He is still crying, tears soaking into the soft material of his robe.

Lotor pulls away and feels the heavy weight around his neck, like a millstone, heavy and cumbersome.

"Here," he says and drags the necklace out from under his robe. He pulls it above his head and finally rests it on his palm. It's a small crystal stone, about the size of the pad of his thumb, oblong and a dull green with a hint of an amber core. He rubs it and it bursts into life, the brilliant hues of blue making Lance gasp as they both watch it dim back. 

"On my planet these stones were given to people you value. This was given to me by my mother when I was born. She sadly passed away shortly after. A sickness. It drove my father mad in need to find a cure, but nothing can cure death."

"I'm so—" Lance starts, but Lotor shakes his head.

"No, it was years ago. It doesn't even matter. I never knew them well enough before my father's madness overtook him. I was taken away and raised by others and when they learned about my planet's demise. Well. They made certain that I would not let that happen ever again."

"Why are you telling me this." There is worry and concern in his voice.

Lotor blinks and looks away as he feels, lets himself feel. Just a little. "I want you to have it. To remember me by."

There's a gasp and he feels Lance cup his hand before pushing Lotor's fingers over the necklace. "I could never accept this. It's the one thing you have left of your parents."

"No, you don't understand." Lotor turns back. "It's been cold and dim for as long as I can remember but now." He opens his hand, forefinger making the stone flicker to life once again. "I am meant to give it to you."

There is more denial, shaking of heads, that back and forth two equally stubborn people are reduced to and then finally—"Okay! Fine! I'll take it for tonight, but I'm giving this to you tomorrow morning. So you'd better be there at breakfast or else."

There is a joke in there, Lotor is sure of it. So, he smiles and nods his head.

"You can give it to me the next time we meet."

"It's a promise." And it is.

* * *

Everything is silent as Lotor slips away from Lance's room and toward his own. There is little he needs, but he grabs the replicator he'd built along with his thin Luxite knife. He shrugs off his robe and pulls on a more nondescript black one, along with a cloak he'd managed to grab from one of the storage rooms.

Making his way back to the vault is easy, security way too lax for his liking. Lotor takes out the replicator and places the bottle he'd nicked on top. It takes a tick, but the light turns green and he places it on the hand pad. It thinks for a moment and then the door slides open with a quiet hiss as the pressure is released.

"Hello there," Lotor whispers as the tiny robot he'd left behind scurries up to him. There is a blue crystal on its back, protruding out of the dark gray metal. It breaks off into his hand and he pockets the carcass. He steps inside, nudging a small binding against the vault door to keep it from closing. Walking up to the pedestal, he gives it a once over, checking on the blue crystal and the soft glow of the force field, before pulling out a chip and placing it into the small slot on the side. It slips in and the barrier flickers. With deft hands he replaces the real gem with the artificial one and ten ticks later the barrier flickers back to life.

"That should keep them guessing for a few quintants at least."

He pulls away from the glass and then takes his small binding chip and the vault hisses closed. He walks back to the terminal and pulls out the scrambling chip. As he does there is a shuffle, then footsteps. He grabs the chip and bolts to the nearest freight box. 

Sentinels, newly refurbished with new memory banks, trek through the space. They stop at the vault and start their scanning protocols. Lotor doesn't stay to watch, instead slipping back into the shadows, and as soon as he is a good thirty paces away he bolts down the aisle. His soft leather soles make not a sound as he runs.

It's a clean getaway all the way to the launch bay. Ships come and go at all hours here, but the area is nearly empty at this time of night. He slips in past the single operator—who would be stupid enough to attack the base so well guarded by Voltron itself. Lotor walks to his choice of ship. He'd already made his pick quintants ago. It had been easy enough to change the rotation so that this one was forgotten, left at the back of the bay waiting for his escape.

He steps inside, powers it up and just as he’s about to flip the switch a voice rings through.

"Are you authorized for departure?" the bored flight engineer pings the ship's radio channel.

Lotor pauses and then flips the comms open. "This is Sincline, a friend of Voltron. Taking this ship for a spin in the lower atmosphere."

"Right. You're free to depart," comes the voice again and the radio falls silent.

And it's as easy as that to fly up and off planet. No one bats an eye. No one tries to stop him. He lets himself change back, the rigid muscles, the extra inches of height. He looks down at his hand—back to purple. Back to reality. Back to the mission at hand. It should be a relief, something he should have looked forward to, but instead it feels like a self forged trap, winding tighter until he cannot stray from his path.

He flips the comms open once more—to that particular channel he has reserved just for this. 

"Acxa. I'm ready."

* * *

Lotor stands next to the bay where his ship waits, ready for departure. It's almost done, just the last simple touch left. He pulls out the crystal from his pocket.

It's a deep blue—ocean blue. It reminds him of bright eyes and brighter smiles. 

"Zethrid!" he calls out and turns on his heel. He thrusts the crystal at his commander. "Finish it," he demands and stalks back to his quarters, not sparing her another glance.

* * *

The past months have been a whirlwind of development. Death. Betrayal. New hope and heartbreak.

Lotor feels his ship sinks forward through the rift in space and he feels a jolt of pleasure course through his veins. It feels like coming home after a long absence.

His lets his gun fire at the Galra flagship. A single ray and the barriers surrounding the core falter and shatter and the beam of light pierces through.

"Attention Paladins of Voltron and rebel leaders," the words come easy as he slips back to the familiarity they'd shared for the few phoebs he'd been with them. "I know we've had our differences in the past—But I think it's time we had a discussion."

The comms flicker. The channel mutes and he sits back to wait.

It takes the Paladins a good varga to get back to him, but he doesn't mind as he watches Voltron rise and break apart, the lions swinging toward the castle ship along with a few of the rebels. He waits, shields up, just in case this goes awry, but he's almost certain it won't.

_Enemy of your Enemy is your Friend._

The comms flicker to life once more. A video transmission. He allows it. The familiar deck pops into view along with the Paladins, still in armor, Allura in pink standing a few steps in front.

"You have our attention, Lotor, exiled Prince of the Galra. What do you wish from us?" Her words ring true, but there is not a flicker of recognition in her eyes.

He feels his gaze stray off her to the others. Lance catches his eye. He stands in his armor with the others. A wave of relief settles in his gut. He is unhurt. Lotor leans back.

"I've come to offer my allegiance against the Emperor. As well as come to fetch something I left behind." His words are for Allura, but his eyes don't move away from Lance.

There is a moment of silence and then there is a flash of recognition on Lance's face. Lotor feels the smirk tug at his lips and he does nothing to stop it. He watches Lance touch something against his chest as he steps back, bumping into Black. The others don't seem to notice as the blood drains from Lance's cheeks. Thin lips purse into a line and his eyes harden to hide the hurt.

The sound shorts out, but the video continues as the Paladins discuss. A dobash passes. Five. Then Allura is back. She is frowning.

"You can board." The words are terse as though she has to pull them out. "And before you ask, your safety is—guaranteed."

The video feed cuts out, but not before Lotor sees Lance look at him once more. His expression is grim, but there is a short shake of his head and a look that spells out more than words.

Lotor sits back. It's time. Time to fetch back what was his.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me: [tumblr](http://bluphacelia.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/blu_tweets).


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